Babas - Conway the Machine ft. Keisha Plum

Blood gurglin' at the back of his throat

The smell of gunpowder suffocates his nose

Echoes of screams clingin' to life

But he will never leave, came back like it's prophecy

Roberto Cavalli drenched in Burberry trenches

Immaculate in Prada boots

Tom Ford florals, double breasted suits

Send a message to him, through his beloved auntie

Left blood on her lace doilies

It'll be weeks before they find her body

And I'm lookin' like the goddess of beauty

Gettin' fed white grapes by a shorty named Ruby

I'm fingerin' her pussy as he kisses her on the neck

She is our bird's nest, I ask for her by request

The night gets wet, spontaneous shootouts

Niggas bring out the heat in the chilly Buffalo streets

Line bodies all over the concrete

This is what happens when Keisha Plum meets the Machine

Smokin' weed by the pound, the devil's playground

Burnt mahogany, truffle oils, Persian caviar

The bullets left artwork in his skin, beautiful scars, yeah

God Don’t Make Mistakes

God Don’t Make Mistakes

God Don’t Make Mistakes

God Don’t Make Mistakes

Uh, zipper on stomach, that’s mad stitches, young mothers, crack addictions

Young nigga's father never present, dad was missin'

Young kings pack the jail, pack the prison, come home, go back to prison

Bad decisions, bad position, judges over-sentence, that's the system, crack the system

Dirty cops, police stations, old cases, probation

Parole boards with dirty lawyers, uh, yeah

Public schools underpaid, teachers miseducation

Race discrimination, fuck a job application

Trap house, twelve-twelve, bags, plates and razors

Not Jesus Christ, forty-five is my savior, yeah

Bells Palsy, bullet scars, foreign cars

Celestial beings align with the stars, aw

Look what I became

I went from king to a god